Emptiness
by Selvanic
Summary: It’s hard to understand the meaning of alone when you’ve never had anything to begin with. OroKabu. Angst, spoiler, mild yaoi. Rated to be safe.


_It's been a while since I've touched this pairing. And this isn't what I usually do with them. But I missed writing for them, even if there hasn't been much development lately. Admittedly, I took some liberties with the storyline near the end. But it's just my speculation. Don't get upset with me for not being canon or something. It's what fanfiction is for, ne? _

_So yes. Hopefully I haven't disappointed. Please review to let me know what you think; good, bad, or otherwise._

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It's hard to understand the meaning of alone when you've never had anything to begin with. It's hard to comprehend how people feel when they lose everything when you've nothing to lose.

Living from day to day, doing as he was told, taking orders from men he didn't respect and spying on villages that were allegedly his home meant nothing to him. He had no attachment. He had no dedications. He'd had no affections for his adoptive parents. He had no loyalties to the man who pulled his strings, who claimed control of his mind. He had no respect for the village of idealistic fools he was raised in. Everything seemed…distant. He felt numb.

Until he was 'given' to the man who would change his life. It was cliché and it was overused, but on that day, something changed irreversibly. As long pale fingers took hold of his chin, tilted his head from one side to the other, he felt something in him wake. As piercing golden eyes bored into his own darker ones, he felt as if a haze was lifted. There was something different about this man.

He was supposed to be a spy; he was supposed to learn this man's secrets. He was supposed to find the key to the seeming specter of a man's immortality. But this marble statue of a human, this deity in a mortal's body, had realized his loyalties were tainted. It was a painful procedure, but the jutsu was lifted, the strings attached to his consciousness removed. He'd been left feeling broken and empty, like a marionette freed from its controller, laying limp upon its wooden stage.

A cold, calculating, voice told him he had a choice, told him he could stay and serve, or flee and attempt to live. It was clear that he wouldn't survive. The puppet master would realize his toy was missing and would come for him. With this man, though, he might be safe. He could hide. He could wait. And so he'd chosen to stay, and Otogakure had become his temporary refuge.

He'd been put to the test, made to spy on children, infiltrate ranks far below his own. He was made to kill, was told to delegate, was treated like any other subordinate. With every mission, he earned more respect, gained more footing in the complex organization that was the Sound Village. With every task, those golden eyes seemed to take more interest. Pale hands which would strike him for insubordination began to touch lightly, move through his mousy grey hair. A raspy voice he'd come to expect threats from fed offhanded compliments. And the longer he stayed, the more he did, he found himself thinking less of temporary refuge and more of permanent belonging.

When it happened, he couldn't say. It had been several years since he'd first been inducted, he was older, and he had earned a spot others would forever envy him for. Even as his leader's right hand man, though, trust was strained. The pale man still looked at him with suspicion, still gave him tasks to test a loyalty the young man had never felt before. And he completed them all. He would kneel to give his reports, would address his master with the respect the man deserved. And still the suspicion was there. It kept things…interesting.

The chunin exams were when things changed permanently. The plan to destroy his former 'home town', the place he was raised, the place he'd spent years watching, was set. A war would erupt. Tensions would be strung. Thousands would die. And he felt no sentiments, felt no doubt, no regret. He followed through as he always did, following orders, playing the fool, creating a persona looked down upon by all. The Uchiha boy was his target, was the source of his master's interest. The boy was the key to it all.

Little did he know, the child he'd had a chance to kill would ruin everything for him.

Things didn't go as planned. Konoha didn't fall as they wanted. Sunagakure failed to uphold their portion of the agreement. And the Hokage proved to have more fight left in him than they'd anticipated. They were forced to retreat, to pull back, to run. There was fury in those glazed golden eyes, frustration and murderous disappointment hidden behind agonized pain. The man would prove to be as volatile as the serpents he controlled for weeks to come.

As a medic, the young man was allowed to get close. He was given more room to work than the other surgeons of the village. His medicines were taken, though never without a fight. He was struck. He was attacked. He was verbally abused. But he was never killed. Permanent damage was never done. Murmurings spread through Otogakure as the leader was bedridden and it was his duty to put them to rest. He silenced rumors of weakness. He murdered those who spoke of an uprising, those who whispered words of conceived takeovers. And he kept all of this from his master's knowledge. There were some things that were better left unknown.

As the Sound Four failed, as his master grew impatient, he was forced to take desperate measures. His offers were denied, his condolences thrown back in his face with venomous snarls and threats of violence. His body was refused. Only one would be accepted, and it wasn't going to make it on time. He watched in morbid fascination as the man he served stole yet another body, watched as one fell hollow and empty to the floor, as the other shuddered and shivered with the invasion. They were too late. They were out of time. But Kimimaro wouldn't fail. That boy's disgusting obsession would get their target to them, one way or another.

He felt no guilt when the reports came in, when all five of the children were reported dead. He felt no remorse as he watched the Uchiha boy trudge in alone, face stony and emotionless. He gave no indication of anything as he watched his master light up with the child's arrival, as he watched the serpentine man stagger about in a body still too new to be familiar. He did as he was told, waiting on their target, giving the Uchiha what was asked of him. But he was disgusted. So much for so little. And yet, progress was being made. They were finally going in the right direction.

It seemed, too, that his loyalty had been proven. The suspicion was no longer in those scrutinizing golden eyes. Missions to test him were no longer given. He was allowed more freedoms, his labs no longer needing assistants. And he was taken to his master's private chambers, at first as a doctor to monitor the latest body's adjustments and acceptance, later as a toy and a whore.

Formalities were lost in the bedroom. He no longer had to bow his head, no longer had to kneel for recognition. His words were no longer clipped, distance no longer kept between them. Pale hands slid across his body, through his hair. Ever smiling lips would claim his own, a thick tongue prying against his own, filling his mouth, cutting off his air in a near dizzyingly pleasurable way. Gasps and moans filled the air. Breath mingled as surprisingly narrow hips rocked against his own, as his shuddering body was filled by his master. His hands would clutch and scratch, would move across the other's back in a desperate need to hold onto something. Their bodies would move against each other in hungry undulations, sweat slicking their heated skin.

And when it was over, there was silence. His master would lay next to him, pale skin tinged with the flush of exertion. His own hands would lay at his sides, fingers twitching slightly against the covers. Hair was tangled, stuck to his face, his neck. Ebony strands mimicked this on pale skin, creating a contrast he never failed to find breathtaking. His muscles would ache as the euphoria died. His breathing would level out, his heart rate would slow. And things would go back to as they always were.

He was never allowed to sleep in his master's bed, was never given the chance to watch those hypnotic eyes slide shut in rest. He was allowed to wash himself, allowed to dress himself, and allowed a single kiss before he was shown the door. And somewhere in this routine, he had grown attached. A heart he'd thought was dead, was incapable of feeling, craved the older man's touch, craved the feeling of his leader's arms around him. For the first time in his life, he'd been given something he would fight to protect, fight to keep. For the first time in his life, he'd found a home.

And for the first time in his life, he was taught what it meant to lose everything.

Neither him or his master had seen it coming. The boy's training had been going well. Apparently too well. They'd been forced to change locations several times, had been forced to escape Konoha's pursuits. Their attempts were admirable, trying so hard to get back someone who clearly wanted nothing to do with them…For once, he understood the dedication that took. He understood the drive. But for all he understood, he still found it disgusting. It was still a weakness. It was still sickening to watch as their faces lit up upon finding the isolated Uchiha, still pitiful to watch as their hope faded, as tears rose, as cries for understanding broke the air. All for nothing. The boy was unreachable. The boy belonged to his master as a slave to revenge.

However, time was wearing thin. The serpentine man was growing weaker. The body was beginning to reject the invasion, was beginning to shut down. Another switch would be required soon. He was used to this process, was used to the medications and attentions the older man would require in the time between hosts. He made a point of keeping his lab close to his master's room, if only to keep the time between his making the medication and the other's taking it as minimal as possible. Which is why he didn't understand how he could have missed it. How could he not have heard it? How could he not have sensed the flair of chakra?

No matter how many times he ran through it in his head, he couldn't understand. He'd had the medicine in his hands. He'd walked down the hallways without thinking, each footstep familiar, his mind on the process that would be required for his bedridden leader to take the body they'd been honing over three years. And then the smell of blood had hung heavy in the air. His feet had stopped, his breath had hitched. The scent was coming from his master's room. Instinct had taken over as he slid closer, peered around the corner, attempted to understand what could have happened.

Blood was smeared like paint across the walls, the hollow shell of his master's 'true' body sprawled out across the floor. And amongst the chaos, amidst the gore, stood the Uchiha boy, shoulders slumped. His mind had raced. Had the ritual already taken place? Just who was standing before him? Who was left? And did he want to know?

The rest all passed in a blur, one event crumbling more and more of his life before his eyes. It felt distant, detached, as if it were a story being told to him by someone he wasn't listening to. The boy had killed his master, had devoured and crushed what he'd assumed to be an domineering soul. Those cold eyes showed him everything, replayed every moment, and his stomach turned. He didn't know if he'd thrown up or not; he'd gone numb. His muscles trembled, his knees had given out, and the brat had simply walked away.

Somehow, he'd dragged himself into his master's room, his hands slipping in blood he'd never expected to be spilled. He felt cold. Empty. Broken. Every exhalation was shaky, every intake thick with the taste of iron as it hung in the air. He collapsed, at some point, his arms wrapped tightly around the mass of coarse black hair. Had he cried? Had he screamed? He couldn't recall. All he could remember was the pain, the tightening in his chest, the shortness of breath, and the burning hatred swelling behind it all.

But that hatred, that disgust, wasn't directed entirely at the boy behind the massacre. No. He hated himself for not realizing it. He hated himself for not being there. He hated himself for breaking down. And he hated his master. He hated the man for making him care. He hated the man for giving him something to cling to. He hated the man for being his weakness.

In an act of desperation, in an act to prove himself, he'd mutilated his own body. He'd stolen skin from the lifeless body, had patched it onto his own. He'd felt the invasion begin immediately, felt the surge of unfamiliar chakra as it insinuated itself amidst his own. But he wanted it. He wanted that conflict. He wanted something to overcome. He wanted something to fight.

Otogakure no longer felt like home to him. It had become just another hollow village, just another place, just another system of people and hallways, of markets and backstreets. And so he'd left. Without a word, without a reason, he'd walked away. The Uchiha boy would die. His own hands - one no longer his own - would be the ones to tear those limbs apart. With his master's power aiding his own, with the pale skin he'd once craved consuming his arm, he would wring the last breath from the boy who'd taken everything from him. It would be poetic. His hand. His fallen leader's hand. Together, they would take back what they'd lost.

The battle within his own mind, though, proved to be more than he'd expected. His sanity was slipping, barely hanging by a narrow thread. The chakra in the grafts was stronger than he'd anticipated, the skin spreading faster, taking more of him with it. By the time Konoha had found him, he'd lost his shoulder, his arm, and a large portion of his face. He'd laughed, then. And he'd realized that the battle was now discerning himself from the power inside of him. He had to separate himself from his master. What had been poetic had become self-destructive. The body he'd wanted to share had now begun something to fight for.

Sleep had become a luxury. His mind was too busy, his body's natural healing capabilities constantly fighting against the insistent spread of the rough, pale, skin. He didn't know how long he'd been wandering, how long he'd been looking. He didn't know how much longer it would take him, how far the boy was from where he was. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten. He couldn't remember the last town he'd passed through. He was too focused on remembering who he was, where he was going, and what he was planning.

The moon was high, her face bright, obscured only by the occasional passing cloud. Her light shone down on the pool of still water, providing a mirror for him to stare at his own disfigured face. Even with his hair pulled back, his glasses on, he could barely recognize himself. He could barely remember how he'd looked so many weeks before. For the tenth time, he brought his fingers up, tracing the rough skin under the eye that wasn't his, shivering at the sensation. It was wrong. It wasn't how it was supposed to feel.

"Orochimaru-sama…"

The name was barely a whisper, passing his lips without his thinking. If he covered his face, covered what was left of him with the hand that was no longer his own, he could see the man he wanted to see. He could see the man he was fighting for…and fighting against. A bitter smile touched his lips and his shoulders fell, the pale hand slipping away to touch the surface of the water. Ripples sent his reflection scattering for a moment, only slowly returning as the water stilled once more.

"What am I doing?" he muttered, eyes hooded, listless, glasses set aside. "How many times did I offer this to you? And now I'm fighting it…" A short, harsh, laugh escaped him and he struck the water, getting to his feet and raking a hand through his hair. He turned his eyes skyward, the twisted smile tugging at his lips once more. He knew what to do.

Tracing altered fingers down his face and shivering at the feeling, he closed his eyes and exhaled shakily. He'd had nothing when he'd been born into this world but he refused to have nothing when he left it. One man had earned his loyalty. One man had given him purpose, given him a place to call home. One man had stolen his heart without ever offering one in return. This would be his final act as the other's right hand man. This would be the final proof of his dedication, his loyalty.

Kabuto Yakushi would step aside. He would give up what was left of his body, what was left of his mind, and allow his master to take it all. He would give everything he was, everything he'd been, to the man who'd given him a reason to keep trying. He would give Orochimaru one more chance to live and to accomplish the goals they'd both worked to achieve. And though he couldn't be there to see it, he would know, in the final moments, that it would be his body. And that's all he could ask.


End file.
